


i never knew i could feel this much (for you)

by hanzios



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bunker Fic, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Jackson learned two things: 1) how to throw a punch; and 2) how easily Miller gets distracted when Jackson’s lips are on his.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	i never knew i could feel this much (for you)

**Author's Note:**

> i posted a gif of jackson punching that sanctum guard trying to save abby & @Stormkpr pointed out that he probably learned it from a certain wonkru warrior 👀 thus, this fic was born!

“Do I _have_ to?”

Jackson is aware he sounds like an inconsolable child as he’s pleading at his partner, but if he’s being perfectly honest, he doesn’t care. Miller gives him a sideways glance, the hand on Jackson’s shoulder squeezing lightly.

“It’s for your own good,” the warrior says as they turn a corner, a quick tick on the corner of his lips.

Members of Wonkru bustle around the hallways of the bunker, each and every one of them striding with purpose. Jackson can’t help but feel small amidst all of these seasoned fighters in their large coats and permanent frowns. However, despite their towering figures, he feels safe with Miller’s arm loosely around him.

They finally stop inside a nearly empty room Jackson hasn’t been in before. It’s small, like everything else in the bunker, with gym equipment and other materials on one side of the room. There are a few people still training, sweaty and strong.

Jackson feels out of place.

“Alright,” Miller speaks up, the others halting at the sound of Blodreina’s chief guard. “Wrap it up and go home.”

They don’t dare to disobey. Slowly, the entire room collects their things and walks out, some of them stealing nasty looks into Miller’s direction. The soldier doesn’t seem to care, walking over to the equipment. Jackson follows.

“Nate, I’m not sure about this,” Jackson quips at one last attempt to save himself from embarrassment.

Miller turns to him, tenderness in his eyes as he places a warm hand on Jackson’s bicep.

“We talked about this,” he says. “You won’t carry a gun, so I’ll just teach you some basic self-defense.” Jackson doesn’t seem fully convinced. So, Miller adds, “It’ll make me feel a lot better.”

There is an unspoken _‘in case you’re thrown in the pits’_ at the end of his sentence.

Finally, Jackson nods. Although Jackson is sure he would _never_ do anything to break the rules and endanger him _or_ Nate, he relents. These are unfortunate times. If it makes his partner sleep easier at night, then he’ll do it.

Miller smiles at him. He ruffles through the small drawer at the corner and pulls out a roll of white hand wrap. Jackson remembers Miller telling him they don’t use it anymore, since most of them have learned to fight without it, but, well, Jackson seems to be an exemption.

“Hold out your hand,” Miller says, and Jackson does. His partner carefully wraps the cloth on Jackson’s open palm, the spaces between his fingers, until he tightens and closes it on the wrists.

It feels unnatural on the doctor’s hand. He hears a voice in his head reminding him that his hands are made for healing, not fighting. Jackson drowns that voice with reason.

“Okay,” Miller picks up two focus mitts from the equipment table. They look almost unused, also probably contributing to the fact that most of them never trained with old gym equipment, either. Miller puts them on as they walk to the center of the matted room. He puts his hands in front of Jackson. “Just punch it.”

Jackson assumes a pose he once observed other soldiers in. He takes a deep breath before throwing a weak punch into the mitt, Miller’s hand barely moving. He deflates.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Miller consoles with a supportive smile. He removes his mitts and lets them fall on the floor, walking closer to Jackson. “Get your left foot up here,” he instructs as he settles behind Jackson. Miller’s holding his shoulders, prodding his foot to step up.

Jackson could feel the other man’s breath on the back of his neck. He tries to focus on his words instead of the tingling sensation going down his spine.

“Keep your back leg open,” Miller continues, aligning Jackson’s booted feet. “Maintain this stance. It’ll give you more power as you throw the punch.”

Jackson hums a reply.

Miller slithers his hand along Jackson’s back as he moves beside him, grip landing on the doctor’s hands. They exchange a look; Miller looks as serious as ever. It’s cute, Jackson decides.

“ _This,_ ” Miller explains as he tucks Jackson’s thumb over his middle finger. “…is how your fist should look like. If the finger’s sticking out to your side, it’ll hurt when you punch a guy. Plus, if you hold it out wrong, you’ll probably break a bone.”

Jackson looks up, alarmed.

“Lucky you have me, right?” Miller smirks, making Jackson at ease, a smile on his face.

“Alright, _Seda,_ ” Jackson teases. “Now what?” He remains in the position Miller instructed, trying his hardest to remain like a statue. He probably looks ridiculous, but Miller doesn’t say a thing.

The warrior mimics the stance beside Jackson. He winks at the doctor.

“Watch,” he says. Miller instantly pulls his dominant fist forward along with his body, attacking the air with all the strength he’s got. Jackson is impressed at Miller’s form, and how elegant he looks as he demonstrates the punch. “See how my right foot twists as I go? It helps generate strength for your upper body.”

Jackson nods. “I think I got it.”

“Look at you being a fast learner,” Miller jokes without venom. He puts on the focus mitts and resumes his position in front of Jackson. “Remember. Focus on your target, pivot your leg, and hit it with your middle knuckle.”

“Focus. Pivot. Hit,” Jackson repeats, assuming his fighting position. His eyes concentrate on the black mitt, and with the three word mantra on his head, he swings his right fist forward and meets the mitt with surprising strength.

Miller’s hand moves back due to the force, and when they meet eyes, they’re both grinning.

“Hey, if you keep this up, I’ll be out of a job,” Miller says, that same handsome smirk on his face.

“You think a spot at the army will be opening up soon?” Jackson quips jokingly.

Miller chuckles. “Okay. _Now_ comes the fun part.” He removes his mitts and throws it on the ground.

Jackson raises a brow. “Wait. _That_ wasn’t the… fun part?”

His partner just shrugs teasingly. Miller looks at Jackson, and assumes a fighting stance in front of the doctor. “I want you to punch me.”

“What?”

“Come on, Jax,” Miller pushes. “Just punch me.”

“Nate, I’m not _punching_ you–“

Before he could even protest any further, Miller lunges forward, quickly wrapping Jackson’s throat loosely with his arm. “Don’t hesitate,” Miller whispers into Jackson’s hair, their bodies pressed together. “You hesitate, you die.”

“Yeah, then why are you hesitating to choke me?” Jackson just asks. Miller releases him, smiling playfully.

“Guess I’m not the type of guy who chokes his boyfriend.”

Jackson gives him a knowing look.

“Without consent,” Miller adds, a mischievous glint in his big, brown eyes. 

Jackson laughs at that. He steps forward and plants a kiss on Miller’s lips, his hands both on his partner’s face. Miller deepens the kiss, his own hands sliding to Jackson’s hips. They pull themselves closer into each other, feet moving so that Jackson’s back is against the hard cement wall.

“Continue this lesson tomorrow?” Jackson breathes.

Miller’s mouth is on the other man’s neck, nibbling at the skin. “Mhm.”

And thus, the lesson ends.

Jackson learned two things: 1) how to throw a punch; and 2) how easily Miller gets distracted when Jackson’s lips are on his.

+

Due to their full schedules, and barely even having time for themselves, their next self-defense session comes two weeks later.

And today, Miller’s face holds urgency. Who could blame him?

Just a few days ago, a Wonkru healer who Jackson and Abby were training became the next unfortunate victim of the fighting pits. He’d been caught stealing medicine for his friend, driven by the need to save someone important to him. Jackson was devastated as he watched the man fight; as he watched a trainee (and friend) get impaled with a sword from the back.

Miller had only looked at Jackson, even more worried for him.

Jackson didn’t need to be convinced when Miller had asked him to train with him that day.

It’s not like Miller is training the doctor to become a warrior, anyway. He knows how uncomfortable fighting makes his partner. All he wants to do is make Jackson prepared in case Miller can’t come to his rescue. The mere thought sends shivers down Miller’s spine.

The soldier doesn’t like thinking of Jackson in the pits. But the past week’s events sobered him.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” Miller says when they’re back at the training room, all alone after he’d shooed away everyone else. They’re touching, Miller putting the hand wraps on Jackson.

Jackson shakes his head slightly. He swallows. “I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.

Even after just a year of being together, Miller has already memorized the nuances in Jackson’s face, his voice, his body language. They can both communicate with each other without having to say any words.

“Hey.” Miller stops from wrapping Jackson’s left hand, his palms flying to his partner’s cheeks. He peers into his eyes, imploring the doctor to turn to him for comfort.

Jackson’s hand cups Miller’s, looking back at him with deep sadness. “It’s… hard being a pacifist in a world full of violence.”

“That’s what makes you good, Jax.” The other man doesn’t say a thing. Miller ponders for a moment. “Look, if you don’t want to do this–“

“I do,” Jackson says quickly.

Miller knows he’s doing all this for Jackson; what he just now realizes is that Jackson is doing this for Miller, too.

After the hand wraps are set, they’re back in the middle of the room, feet planted on the floor. Miller demonstrates a few simple moves that Jackson can use to protect himself – elbow strikes, low kicks, how to escape from a headlock. He’s lucky his boyfriend is an easy learner. By the time two hours pass, Jackson can already successfully get out of Miller’s grip around his neck.

Granted, the warrior isn’t using his full strength, even though he won’t admit it, internally afraid of actually hurting Jackson. The doctor notices this.

When Jackson escapes the third headlock of the day, he says in a strained breath, sweat on his forehead, “You’re holding back.”

Miller frowns, attempting to act clueless. “Was I?”

“I know you, Nate,” Jackson says. “I’ve seen you fight.”

Miller presses a tongue to his cheek. “I don’t–“

“Thank you,” Jackson mutters. Miller looks at him, surprised. “I–I don’t think I’d be as good if you were giving it your all. I’m not strong.”

That makes Miller upset, his feet instantly taking him in front of Jackson. He holds the man in the shoulders. “You _are._ ”

Jackson gives him a look. Miller challenges his eyes.

“Your kindness, your mind… _that’s_ your strength.”

“Will kindness defend me from the fighters at the pits?” Jackson asks. There’s a kind of humor treading on his words, and sometimes the doctor’s jokes are too dry that you have to listen to him twice to find them. This one, for Miller, is a doozy.

“Maybe not, but it’s who you are,” Miller says instead. “And I love you for that.”

The both of them are taken into the memory of their first ‘ _I love you’_ s to each other.

They punctuate their conversation with a tender kiss.

Jackson presses forward, a hand on Miller’s chest. But before their kiss deepens, Miller pulls away just the slightest bit. “I know what you’re doing, Jackson,” he grins into Jackson’s mouth.

The doctor slides his hand on the nape of Miller’s neck. “Is it working?”

“I’m a weak man,” is Miller’s reply. Jackson laughs, capturing the warrior’s lips once again. As they’re making out inside the training room, hands roaming on each other’s bodies, Miller briefly ponders the effectivity of his self-defense lessons.

He doesn’t think about it much.

If every session would end with him pinning the flushed, debauched, moaning doctor on the cement wall, he’d continue to do it for the rest of their time on this godforsaken bunker.


End file.
